


We’re Gonna Be Fine

by kissfromamuse



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 21st Century, A teeny tiny band, Anxiety, BIPOC, Bisexual Male Character, F/F, F/M, Gay Male Character, Lesbian Character, M/M, Men with Children, Modern AU, PTSD, Pansexual Character, Polyamorous Character, Very little straightness. Much homo, latina character, lgbtq+
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:40:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25679764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissfromamuse/pseuds/kissfromamuse
Summary: After over 6000 years of adventure and a memorable stint as godfathers, Aziraphale and Crowley decide to become real fathers, thinking it’ll be less trouble. In short, they’re horribly wrong.
Relationships: Anathema Device & Original Female Character(s), And more I’m lazy, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beetlejuice/Adam Maitland/Barbara Maitland
Kudos: 18





	We’re Gonna Be Fine

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters being updated ASAP (WIP)! Please be patient.

Once upon a time and without a doubt, an angel and a demon decided to stop gallivanting around and start a family. Where exactly had been the question, but Crowley was “certain we’ll figure it out” and Aziraphale decided to let the matter rest for a little while. “Settling down” wasn’t really much of a problem for the angel, who had been pestering his partner about it for months on end, if you were human and kept track of time that way, I suppose. The pestering got to Crowley, who had lately adopted a scowl that reminded one of the insides of chargrilled limes (if you haven’t tried one, you’re missing something, mind you) more than he’d care to admit, and he had taken to going to bed with his sunglasses on. _This_ time, and probably not the last, Azi had won. And they were going, like it or not, to a seemingly pretty country house in Devon sold to them by a woman named Juno. 

“Odd name,” Crowley muttered now, as he punched the gas pedal until the speedometer read 110.

“Really, dear, it isn’t her fault, now is it? And isn’t that a bit speedy?” Aziraphale inquired, likely as a statement, but everything came out as a question these days. He was giddy about _something_ , only he didn’t know exactly what. At present he was reading a brochure about Blackawton, where they were meant to live, his reading glasses slightly askew. Perhaps the gardens had reminded him of an earlier profession, in a past life. At any rate, they were lovely, and Aziraphale simply couldn’t resist lovely things—good _or_ bad.

“Well, I’ve heard an awfully lot of strange names through the times, you know. Demons always run into that lot. But never so _unusual_ as Juno. You see, the trouble is, it has potential to be a nice one, like June, but then you turn up with the O, and there goes the niceness, down the drain.”

“I suppose. Was she the one with the scratchy, squawky voice? She sounded familiar, yet—”

“Yet what?”

“Yet I’d never heard her before. Never mind, darling. Carry on with the drive.”

Crowley tried to push away the rush of thoughts upon his mind. _Familiar? Someone we knew? Someone we know now?_

“What do you mean by familiar?”

“Hmm? I’m likely mistaken.”

“For champagne’s sake, angel! Out with it. Stop being so obtuse. _What makes her familiar?_ ”

Aziraphale dropped the brochure, rolled down the sleeves of his coat, cleared his throat, and mumbled, “Nghtehsxzmen.”

The demon had reached the end of his patience. “SPEAK!”

“NOT HUMAN!”

The color drained from the angel’s face. He looked slightly miffed. “There, I said it. I would have said, _like us_ , but I doubt you would have interpreted that correctly. You tend to be very literal, love.”

The tender article seemed to soften Crowley’s dour expression. He sighed. “After all this time, I’m not surprised that she isn’t.” 

“D’you think she’ll try to visit?” As soon as the words left Aziraphale’s lips, he regretted them. 

Crowley snorted. “To see how the house is doing? To drop off biscuits and tea? Hardly. Anyway, she seemed such an uppity dame on the phone that I doubt she’ll be dropping by anytime soon.”

They drove on pleasantly for half an hour before a thought hit Crowley like a lightning bolt. “Angel—”

Aziraphale smirked. “I see the pesteree has become the _pesterer._ Yes?”

“You don’t suppose—”

“No, absolutely not. What would that woman want with a flaming sword anyhow? I bet she’s got loads of torture devices just stashed away and—”

“Okay, okay, enough! That was all I needed to know.” Crowley assumed his best poker face (for a demon anyhow) and continued driving, though the mention of torture devices clearly bothered him.

As they crept along the countryside, Aziraphale fiddled with the tapes jumbled up in the center console of the Bentley. He settled on a mix of Queen and Sinatra. By the time “Pennies from Heaven” crooned from the speaker, the sunset had unfolded in all its glory. 

“Interesting choice,” Crowley mused. “I suppose that’s inaccurate, though?”

“Not so much inaccurate as unnecessary. There’s no use for money unless you’re a mortal. Or living amongst them, as it were.”

“Hmm. Funny how humans imagine life beyond their little planet. And this is getting a bit mellow for me, I’ll take over the music selection.”

Crowley thumbed through his Spotify playlist on his mobile, a steady blend of the Sex Pistols, Def Leppard, The Police, Led Zeppelin, and Pink Floyd. One of the great things about his husband was how quickly he’d acclimated to the rather screamy music Crowley favoured. 

In stark contrast to the songs blasting from the demon’s phone, they were loping along gently now, night settling in, Aziraphale’s head tucked into the soft nook of Crowley’s leather sleeve. Crowley took a hand off the wheel to stroke the angel’s soft flaxen waves. He bit his lip in thought. “Angel,” he began for the second time that evening. 

Aziraphale took the nickname as a prelude to something serious. “Yes, love?” He reached his hand up to hold Crowley’s, still nestled in Aziraphale’s hair. 

“Do you—do you have any regrets about all our time together?”

“As a matter of fact,” Aziraphale said, wrinkling his nose playfully, “I absolutely do.”

Waiting for the other shoe to drop was agony. _Might as well get it over with, if I want to curb any teasing in the near future_. “What are they?” 

“Oh, darling, who said anything about ‘they’? Only one, dearest. I really do think we should have tied the knot earlier. Besides, I think if we really made an effort, one of us could have presented as female. After the invention of marriage, of course, if I didn’t miracle that into being.”

“Sometimes I wonder who’s actually the angel in the relationship. For the record, I have none.” Crowley pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s temple. Azi was admiring his wedding ring, which graced his right hand and quite possibly his entire right side. It boasted a pair of wings joined at the center, one of diamond, the other of ruby. Crowley had an identical ring on his left ring finger, and each of them had a stunning engagement ring (a diamond halo and devil’s tail, respectively). Impulsively, he looped his sinewy ring finger around Aziraphale’s sturdy one so their rings touched, nearly blending into a perfect circle.

“It’s true,” Aziraphale admitted, looking up, “Only one regret, though, I swear it.”

“On what?” Crowley’s sunglasses had fallen down the bridge of his nose, revealing a sparkle in his eye. 

“Oh…” The angel’s blue eyes tore away from his husband for a moment and drifted upwards, settling on a particularly twinkly star. “That star.”

Crowley brought their entwined fingers to his cheeks, keeping his wheel hand steady. “There’s a shite load of ‘em tonight. Which one?”

Aziraphale scrunched his eyes closed, and it appeared that he was concentrating very hard on something. Then a _pop_ issued from outside as something silver came sailing through the open window, encased in a ball of flame, landing neatly on Crowley’s lap, the flame disappearing as quickly as it had formed. 

“I brought it to you.”

“You _what_?” This outdid the lending of the flaming sword, and certainly the lame magic tricks Aziraphale had performed, all right. “Bollocks. You don’t mean to tell me—”

“Oh, for heaven and hell’s sakes! Just feel it.”

Crowley let go of the angel’s finger and gingerly picked up the star. It was still quite warm, but not enough to make him yelp. “By gum. It really is.”

Aziraphale smirked. “You see, even angels have to be naughty sometimes.”

“But that’s what makes you so bloody adorable, doesn’t it. You’ve done it this time, you old bugger! Stealing stars for me.” Crowley tried and failed to hide his delight. “You were just trying to make me smile, weren’t you?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Have you done that before?”

“Nope. Only for you, dear. Only for you.”

A looming structure came into view, as magnificent as a palace. At those words and long last, they were home, a real home. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first chapter of the first fic I’ve ever posted for any fandom. Thanks for reading if you’ve made it this far. Love you, muselings!


End file.
